


A Warm Home

by AnonymousArchive



Series: Home [3]
Category: Septiplier - Fandom, Video Blogging RPF, jacksepticeye, markiplier - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Girlfriends/No Wives, Angst, Concerned Mark, Depressed Jack, Depression, Eventual Happy Ending, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friendship/Love, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, I'm Bad At Tagging, Light-Hearted, M/M, Mental Health Issues, Metaphors, Recovery, Sad Jack, Septiplier - Freeform, Suicidal Jack, Suicide, Suicide Attempt, Triggers, trigger warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 03:11:19
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11750841
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnonymousArchive/pseuds/AnonymousArchive
Summary: Home is where the heart is and in this case, Jack's home was Mark.





	A Warm Home

**Author's Note:**

> The better days I promised for these two dorks. Sequel to A Broken Home. Read that first if you haven't!
> 
> Can also be known as "the Aftermath" or "the Days After" or maybe something stupid like that. I mean, you get the picture, right?

Jack has finally made it home.  
  
He had taken the long drive, passing by foreign roads, getting lost somewhere along the way, making a wrong turn. But he's made it somehow, finding the right path in the end. Here he was now, inside the white picket fences of the calm security he desperately needed, standing in front of the door that had been waiting for his arrival for so _so_ long. Here he was now, and he was happy.  
  
So happy.  
  
He was just so genuinely grateful to be alive. He was grateful for the second chance he's been given. Grateful to have been pulled away from the deadly trance he was in. Grateful to finally have been breathing, savoring the oxygen and the life all around him.  
  
But most of all, he was just grateful to have found a _home_ . He was grateful to have found it in Mark.  
  
—•—  
  
Mark has finally kept his home.  
  
He'd managed to repair the squeaky floorboards, patch up all the leaky pipes, change loose screws, and most importantly, he's strengthened the foundation, making it stable enough to stand on its own. He's made his home strong enough to conquer any storm, earthquake, or calamity that gets thrown in its direction. His home was fixed, and he was happy.  
  
So happy.  
  
He was glad he had life and love by his side. How these two continue to make the world turn around. How these things endlessly make the Earth lively and happy despite everything in it that made it dark and cruel. How these two important gifts were enough to keep his home steady and sturdy to see the light of the next morning sun.  
  
They were enough to keep Jack alive. They were enough to keep his _home_ alive.  
  
—•—  
  
"Maybe I should go home," the Irishman — who had been sleeping in Mark's guest room for about two weeks now — thought aloud from the couch he had been sitting in.  
  
"What are you talking about, Jack? You _are_ home."  
  
"Stupid," Jack simply bantered as he drowned out the movie they had been watching on TV, "I mean back to my apartment, my actual home. I can't keep living in yer house, ye know?"  
  
Mark sighed as he walked in from the kitchen and slumped next to the green haired idiot, a bag of chips in his hand, "After what happened, I can't just trust you to live alone. Not just yet. Maybe wait a few months and probably more therapy sessions."  
  
Jack groaned. He knew all the red haired American wanted was the best for him. He really didn't mean to make him feel like a little child. Besides, after the little stunt he pulled, he was sure nothing was going to be the same, so he really shouldn't be complaining. Both positive and negative effects had taken place, and people losing trust in him was just part of the latter.  
  
"I'm sorry, Jackaboy. You know all I want is the best."  
  
"I know, Markimoo. I know."  
  
"Hey, at least you stay rent free," Mark said in an attempt to make the man feel happier, but the frown told him he wasn't successful.  
  
"That's the thing. I stay here for free. I shouldn't be staying for free. I can't be staying here for free."  
  
"Yes you can."  
  
"No, Mark."  
  
It was Mark's turn to groan. He forgot how persistent and unwavering Jack was about certain things — repaying favors being one of them.  
  
"Look, it's only temporary," the brown eyed man kinda wished it wasn't, although he definitely wouldn't let Jack know, "You'll be able to pay for everything you want to soon."  
  
"Soon is still so far away, though. I hate living here, feeling like I'm just extra baggage."  
  
Mark wanted him to stop feeling like extra baggage. Mark wanted him to stop feeling like another burden. He wanted to take all those thoughts and throw them in the trash where they belong because Jack wasn't a waste of space at all. He wasn't and he deserved to not only know it, but believe it as well.  
  
So he spoke, hoping a reminder was enough to make the man smile.  
  
"Here you are now, away from the top of your apartment complex, yet still being an idiot. I've already said this a thousand times, but in case you have short term memory loss, let me say it again — you aren't extra baggage. I'm willing to pay for anything just to give you the best, okay?"  
  
And it _was_ enough.  
  
"Fine. Okay," Jack grumbled in reply, yet he had a small smile he couldn't fight back on his face, showing his genuine happiness. He may have not fully believed in Mark's words yet, still feeling all the negativity flowing somewhere inside him, but knowing that the man was being perfectly honest was all he needed to be able to let go of those thoughts for now. It was all he needed to be happy.  
  
Oh, and how happy they truly were.  
  
—•—  
  
The fans were concerned. How little did they know about it all, and Mark shook his head at that fact — he knew exactly how they all felt.  
  
"I kinda wish I didn't affect them all this much," Jack commented lightly as he scrolled through his recent YouTube video that finally revealed _everything_ — his long fight with depression, the life changing incident that had occurred, how he was okay now, how he promises to fight harder now, how suicide is never going to be an answer, how he was staying over at Mark's place now, how truly sorry he is for not addressing the temporary change in his set-up due to that fact, the change in his ever-consistent upload schedule since he now had regular Wednesday therapy to think about, "I mean, look at all their words of support and shock and... I don't know. They sound like ye."  
  
"Of course they sound like me. They love you just as much."  
  
"Shut up," the Irishman said with reddened cheeks and Mark couldn't help smile at that.  
  
"Okay then, McLoughlin. You're loud enough for both of us, anyway."  
  
"Hey!"  
  
The American simply laughed as Jack scoffed, replying to all his concerned viewers with gratitude and honesty — he really was grateful for all these wonderful people. They constantly keep him at bay, endlessly bringing him smiles with their positive replies and happy comments that they might not even think he reads. They're one of the many things about his life he wanted to remember forever. One of the many things he'll always know he never deserved.  
  
He really was grateful for everything that gave him a renewed lust for life.  
  
Especially for the man who has endlessly looked out for him, taken care of him, and welcomed him into this warm home.  
  
"By the way, Bob and Wade want to collab again, if that's alright with you?" Mark snapped him out of his train of thought.  
  
"Why wouldn't that be okay?"  
  
"I mean, maybe you wouldn't want to go play a game with those two as if nothing happened. I know you sent them messages too."  
  
Mark was just concerned. He knew that it would be hard to return to the normal course of life after going through what Jack had gone through. He wasn't trying to be controlling or overbearing. He just wanted to help the man come back to life in baby steps.  
  
But maybe baby steps wasn't what Jack wanted.  
  
"Yeah, and I've already called them. I've had a long heartfelt talk with them and have also said that I'm okay now, safe and sound here with you, like I have said to everyone else I sent messages to," Jack reminded the red haired man, wishing he could tell that he was ready to move on from that bad time in his life and jump right back into the regular cycle of his day.  
  
"But—" _it's not that easy to just go back to normal like everything was fine, Jack. Maybe things will be awkward, or hard, or different for quite a while, but that's okay. You don't have to rush yourself. It's a process, remember? It takes time to heal,_ "Nevermind."  
  
"When do they wanna play?" the Irishman asked, finally done with scrolling and replying, finally glad that his temporary roommate was letting him take control for now.  
  
"Now, actually. They wanna do Overwatch because there was an update, I think."  
  
"Oh. Well, tell them I have ta go download the game, seeing that I just have my laptop," he sounded so normal, and that was supposed to be a good thing now that Jack's almost-death was in the past, but Mark was overthinking again. He can't help it when all Jack's done before the incident was act.  
  
He was just concerned.  
  
"Mark? Ye okay? Ye look like yer staring at a ghost."  
  
"H-Huh? Oh. Yeah, I'm fine," Mark lied.  
  
And Jack knew.  
  
"Liar."  
  
"Okay. You caught me overthinking again," and he wore a cheeky smile that said ' _sorry_ '.  
  
Jack just sighed, "I know ye think I'm going too fast, but trust me — this is a good thing. Gaming with ye four will help keep my spirits up, since I'm happiest when I play with ye guys. I really don't think anything will be different just because I've shown ye guys the inner dark depths of my cold heart."  
  
Mark didn't say anything. Jack wished he saw the genuine calm he had in his blue eyes. Maybe that would be enough to convince the man that everything was currently alright.  
  
"Trust me, Mark. _Please_ ."  
  
"Okay. I trust you."  
  
And once again, things were turning alright. Once again, Jack had that grin and the laughter that often filled Mark's heart with warmth and joy. Once again, they were just four idiots who were being themselves, playing a game like a bunch of teenagers, throwing their jokes around like they normally do. Once again, they were radiating with happiness.  
  
Oh, and how happy they truly were.  
  
—•—  
  
"How was therapy?" Mark yelled as he heard the front door opening and closing, keys being dropped onto a nearby table.  
  
"Shit, as usual," Jack sighed as he replied, just glad he was done for this week, just glad he's finally back in Mark's home.  
  
"I'm glad you're going, really. I know how hard this is for you."  
  
"Yeah, opening up about the deepest parts of my stained soul to a stranger can get really hard when it's not behind a camera," the blue eyed man commented as he casually entered the kitchen where Mark stood with a cup of water, "I'm not saying that my viewers are strangers, though, 'cause they're family but ye should know what I mean."  
  
"I know what you're trying to say, Jack. No need for clarification."  
  
"Yeah, but that isn't quite the full picture," Jack replied bluntly, knowing full well how he could trust the other man in the room with all his anxieties and troubles, "There's a whole lot more crap to it all."  
  
"What is it, then?" Mark asked, paying more attention to the Irish YouTuber due to his caring nature.  
  
"Well, I kinda feel like my therapist doesn't give a shit 'bout what I even do."  
  
"Hey, she cares!"  
  
"I'm just a client to her, DumDum," Jack replied with wit, grabbing himself his own glass of water, contented with the pun he had just made.  
  
"Well, she's still trying to save and help you. No matter if it's her genuine good heart or the high salary that motivates her, there's still some care in there."  
  
Mark and his positivity, as usual.  
  
"Yeah, okay. That doesn't change how shit therapy is, though."  
  
"We can always revert to pills, if you want," Mark offered, "I mean, it's just as effective."  
  
"Nah. I got bad experiences with those."  
  
"Oh?" he asked, hoping he hid his shock pretty well. This was the first time the American had even heard about a link between pills and Jack. He had to know — he wanted to help. All these secrets weren't healthy for Jack's recovery.  
  
"Don't worry, Mark. It's not like I got addicted or anything," how easily did Jack read Mark's thoughts? The brown eyed man will never know, "It's just... I hate the side effects they normally bring."  
  
"Ah, I see. So no to meds, then?"  
  
"Nope, no to that."  
  
"Well, we can always change your schedule to every other week. Or maybe group therapy," he continued to suggest, wishing to help make things smoother and easier for the damaged man he was trying so hard to put back together. He knew how troublesome healing could be.  
  
"Mark, it's fine. I'm bound to be whiney and shit 'bout these things. That doesn't mean it isn't effective, though," Jack wanted to make the man with such a big heart stop being uneasy. He was always so worried, and Jack knew it was too much for someone like him. That much concern, reserved for someone broken, bruised, unworthy? He really was lucky to have Mark in his life.  
  
"Maybe it's slightly uncomfortable and hard, but who said it was gonna be easy?" the blue eyed man added, "No one said it was gonna be easy. So stop yer worrying, okay? Please. Yer scaring me. It's as if yer gonna need therapy for PTSD or anxiety already."  
  
"If you put it that way, I should get an appointment soon."  
  
"Mark!"  
  
"I'm joking, I'm joking," Mark said with a laugh that took away all his unnecessary solicitude. He really did need to chill out with his worrying a little bit.  
  
"Although," he decided to add, making sure to emphasize how truthful his next words will be. Jack _had_ to know his place in Mark's heart, "if you expect my concern for you to diminish, that isn't happening. That's far from happening. I'm gonna worry and worry until you're perfectly okay."  
  
"I'm never gonna be perfectly okay, you know it."  
  
"Then I'll never stop being here by your side."  
  
"That isn't healthy anymore, Markimoo," Jack said, feeling the guilt he often tried to ignore grow a hundred times larger. Once again, he's hurting people without meaning to, being the large weight he was. Once again, he feels his heart sink at the thought that he made other people's lives harder, forgetting how many smiles he's painted on depressed faces.  
  
"Anything it takes to keep you alive, Jackaboy," Mark said, hoping to create a home for Jack, one with security, certainty, and happiness. Once again, here he was willing to give himself up for the blue eyed man. Once again, all he wants was the best the universe could ever offer to this broken boy, anything to fix him up, make him smile, and keep him breathing.  
  
"Don't stop taking care of yerself just 'cause of me. Don't forget about yerself, please."  
  
Here Jack was, worrying for the red haired man. And here Mark was, trying to convince him everything was fine.  
  
It's weird to think of, how everything seems to have gone upside down in this moment.  
  
"I won't forget myself, Seán. But you have to understand, you're my highest priority right now."  
  
"I shouldn't be. Ye should put yerself first."  
  
"Trust me, I'm taking good care of myself just fine."  
  
"But Mark—"  
  
"No buts."  
  
And there was no room for any more petty little quarrels such as this. There was no room for any more contradiction. There was only room for acceptance. For growth, and concern, and warmth.  
  
Jack knew as much as he refused Mark's care, there was no getting out. It's not like he didn't want it, but he felt like he didn't deserve it all. He always felt less than he was, and Mark was willing to keep correcting him. To keep reminding him until he believed he mattered with his whole heart. To keep guiding him until he knows what he's worth, and that was the world.  
  
Until he finally accepts the fact that he was a beautiful masterpiece despite being torn and pulled apart at the seams. Until he finally sees the wonder, life, and radiating glow inside his heart and soul. Until he finally feels important and _loved_ .  
  
Both of them knew, though, that despite the little instances in which the negative thoughts and worries haunt their minds, life was slowly going in an upward direction, becoming a whole lot nicer with time. It was endlessly getting easier, happier, better. They knew that from that moment and forward, they had life on their side no matter what obstacle or puzzle gets thrown their way.  
  
As long as Jack had his home and Mark had his, everything was going to be alright.  
  
—•—  
  
"Mark?" the Irishman called as he entered the other man's room.  
  
"Yes, Jack?" was all the American said as he lay in bed with his laptop balanced on his stomach — it was another one of his lazy days.  
  
"It's a bad day."  
  
Mark looked up and eyed the nervous wreck that graced him with his glorious presence as soon as those words left his lips.  
  
He was paler than normal, blue eyes dull, green hair a mess, right hand scratching his left arm probably to calm his nerves. Mark wanted to ignore the worry rushing through his veins, but how could he when all these signs seemed like such obvious red flags.  
  
"Uh, well... What do I do?"  
  
"I don't know, either. Just... I need te calm down," he muttered, lost. He refused to stare into Mark's eyes right now, feeling like his negativity was contagious.  
  
"Wanna cuddle?" was the first suggestion Mark had, and how he wished he kept his mouth sealed. His cheeks were so red right now.  
  
"Really, Mark?"  
  
"I don't know, okay!" he replied, his voice jumping a few scales higher in embarrassment. It made Jack laugh, and Mark was happy he made the man grin.  
  
"I don't know if rest would be a good thing but I think a distraction might help, though. Maybe we could find a few movies to watch or a videogame to co-op in and play," the green haired man simply said, swerving the conversation away from Mark's embarrassing slip-up — thank goodness for that.  
  
"We could do a collab together. The shippers seem to miss _The Forest_ ."  
  
"I don't know if I wanna film a video right now, though," Jack said sheepishly and Mark wanted to facepalm.  
  
"Right. Sorry."  
  
"It's fine, ye lunatic."  
  
"Hey! I said I'm sorry."  
  
"Yeah, Mark. Okay," Jack said with a grin. That was good.  
  
_Keep him smiling, Mark._ _  
_  
"I do have the one and only Mario Kart on the Wii. We can race, if you want. Although, I don't know if you have it in you to beat me."  
  
"Was that a challenge?" Jack responded with a raised eyebrow.  
  
"Maybe."  
  
"Oh, it's on ye redhead cow!"  
  
"Damn, off camera and you still insult me?" the brown eyed man said jokingly, knowing well that this sort of playful banter always seemed to raise both their spirits.  
  
"Of course. It's hard not te."  
  
"Rude."  
  
"So, are we playing?" Jack retorted with his own mischievous smirk, standing underneath Mark's doorframe like an excited, giddy kid, "Will ye finally pick up yer lazy ass off bed today?"  
  
"Yeah, Jack. Whatever makes you happy."  
  
He also knew perfectly well comments like that brought a certain flutter to Jack's heart.  
  
"Shut up and stand up already, dumbass," he said with a blush.  
  
So Mark did stand up. And the day went well.  
  
Relaxing on the couch just to play some games made Jack's thoughts subside. Just hanging out like two best friends, laid back and chill, made Jack's day grow better. Being the two fools they were without a camera pointed at their faces made his heart slow its rapid pace. Everything was okay now. Everything was going great now.  
  
As long as Jack had his home and Mark had his, everything was going to be alright.  
  
—•—  
  
Jack knew he had to leave.  
  
But somehow, he didn't want to. He's gotten accustomed to his temporary home and all the perks it held inside — the comfy sheets that hugged him to sleep, the variety of cereals he had for breakfast, the pale yet lively colors of the walls, the pictures on the shelves that held so much memories, the distant sounds of birds chirping and the breeze blowing on Sunday mornings, the assortment of videogames he could explore and play, and most importantly, the human and dog that came with the whole package.  
  
He didn't feel like going back to his apartment, which was pretty _empty_ now that he thinks about it. It didn't have the flair Mark's house held. It didn't have life, bright and promising. It used to be his ideal home, just right for someone like him, but eventually it became too enclosed, too small, too restricting.  
  
It certainly didn't feel like home anymore.  
  
And that scared him. So much. He knew he couldn't— no, _shouldn't_ be too comfortable in a place he didn't own. He couldn't overstay, it was only a temporary place until could manage to be alone. Until he was capable and happy enough not to be a risk to his own self. Until he can be alone and not think about death.  
  
And he's managed to get to that point. He's able to smile more than once in a day and he's really proud. He wouldn't have figured to find happiness if you asked him months ago. He wouldn't have known that he'd find it in a brown eyed, red haired American who loved his life and Chica more than anything.  
  
He knew he shouldn't trust someone to keep him alive. He knew he shouldn't hand over his heart that easily. But he did it anyway. He made Mark his oxygen, his lifeline, his heartbeat, his sanity and certainty. He was the only one who could keep him breathing, Jack knew that perfectly well. And he hated how much he relied on the man, but he couldn't deny that he wouldn't survive this world without the kindhearted soul that let him into his home.  
  
Yet he had to leave. He had to go. He can't keep making Mark's life harder.  
  
"Packing?" Mark's voice echoed out into the guest room Jack had been in. It sounded slightly disappointed, although the green haired man didn't want to make assumptions just because he wished that the other man would be saddened by his departure.  
  
"I figured that I've been sleeping in yer house for too long," he croaked, hoping the sadness in his voice wasn't too evident, "I mean, I should probably adjust to life alone again. Can't have me getting too habituated 'ere."  
  
"Oh. Yeah. Of course," Mark wished he could hide his sadness, but his voice has probably already given him away.  
  
He's gotten quite used to the younger fellow's presence in his house, so how can be relieved? How can he feel gladness when all that will be left once the Irishman goes is emptiness? He doesn't know if things will ever be the same again once the guest room turns empty. How will he manage without seeing those blue eyes sleepy? How will he live everyday without hearing that adorable laugh in the middle of an off-camera game?  
  
"I should be out of 'ere by tomorrow. Although, I do need a ride," Jack said, eyes trained onto the duffel bag he was stuffing with his wardrobe, unaware of the crestfallen tone of Mark's voice.  
  
"I'm willing enough to drive you."  
  
"Great. Thanks, Mark. For everything."  
  
"Sure, Jack. No need to thank me."  
  
And Mark left the room, bearing himself mentally and emotionally for the rest of the days without Jack as a roommate.  
  
—•—  
  
Mark knew Jack had to leave.  
  
But somehow, he couldn't bear it. Simply seeing Jack hauling a luggage and a duffel bag into his car made his heart sink. Simply seeing the bed in the guest room tidy and neat made his smile turn into a frown. He knew he was gonna miss sharing everything with the Irishman — his not-so-grand home and its faded walls, his enthusiastic pet Chica, most of his videogames that were simply stacked on a shelf, his favorite cereals in the pantry, some of his socks whenever Jack ran out of his own, his bad puns and humor, his giddy and childish happiness, and most importantly, his life.  
  
But here they were now, in front of the door to Jack's apartment room. Here they were, back in Jack's old home. Here Mark was, feeling guilty for not wanting to let the Irishman go. Here he was, feeling bad for wanting to keep Jack with him forever.  
  
How he wished to keep him in his home forever.  
  
But that gleam in Jack's eyes — the nostalgia, the recognition — showed just how badly Mark needed to let the man go. Finally seeing his home and its small TV, not-so-comfy couch, feather throw pillows, and old favorite mugs casually arranged on the kitchen counter, Mark could've sworn Jack would be happy to be back here.  
  
But there was a frown on his face when he came back from his bedroom. And then Mark had to see what it was that took away that look of glee from his blue eyes.  
  
And then there it was — the litter of clothes around the messy bed, the dried up bloodstains from punches on the wall, shards of broken glass from his mirror. It was a bedroom he had never seen, and it broke his heart how ruined and shattered everything in it seemed. He wished he knew earlier, then maybe the mess would have been less. Maybe he wouldn't have to go through this all.  
  
When was the last time Jack made a video in this room? He can't seem to recall seeing it any recently, or maybe in forever. Then again, all the filming took place in a spare room turned recording room, just like what Mark had. How could he have missed Jack's bloody hands in gaming videos, though? Now that he's thought about it, when was the last time Jack's knuckles were even seen? Did Robin know about it? Were the high fives so perfectly angled to conceal them? How old were those stains, really? Why hadn't he cleaned the blood since then? The Irishman's hands didn't seem to be beat up when he sat on the top floor of the apartment building months ago.  
  
He had so many questions that no amount of reassurance will ever take away. So many concerns and worries just flying through his head like a hurricane. Nothing the world could offer would ever erase the dejection and disappointment Mark held in his heart. But even then, Jack had to try.  
  
"I'm okay now, Mark. I'm better now. This was before," he broke the silent tension with his words, hoping to make the other man feel better, voice lilting due to his accent.  
  
"I just wish I knew what was happening here," the American gestured towards Jack's clutter, "Maybe I would have been able to do something earlier."  
  
"Ye still did something. Ye still saved me. Don't forget that I'm here, happier than I've ever been, all because of what ye did up there," Jack points towards the ceiling, hoping the other man knew he was talking about the ledge he almost jumped off.  
  
"You're right, but I just can't help it. When I see the remnants of your sadness, I feel myself break."  
  
Jack blushed at that, once again overwhelmed by someone caring. He just can't wrap his head around the fact that he was valuable to people.  
  
"You and yer poetic shit again," he shook his head with that small smile Mark relished, "Quit it. Yer a YouTuber, not an author."  
  
"Okay, okay. Although, you sure you want to come back here? With all the things that could remind you of—" he cleared his throat, "the dark times?"  
  
"Honestly—" _I don't want to come back here at all. I don't want to have to see this place again if I could. I just wanna stay with you and Chica forever, if possible. I just wanna be with you and live with you permanently. I know it sounds like too much to ask, but you're the root of my happiness and I just need to stay close to you always,_ "I-I don't know."  
  
"What do you mean?"  
  
"I mean, I sure would like to... not move back in here—"  
  
"Then don't!"  
  
"But Mark, I don't wanna be too much of a pain to ye anymore. I've stayed for more than a month in yer home now. It's finally time to move out."  
  
"Jack, you know you don't have to move out. You don't have to leave at all. In fact, I want you to stay. I'd sleep easier if you stayed."  
  
_How desperate that was, Mark. Really keeping it together._ _  
_ _  
_ "Mark, I've been hoarding yer home for too long now. Ye really should just let me go."  
  
"But what if—" _I don't wanna let you go?_ "I... Nevermind. Just... Please do what you think is best for your mental health, okay?"  
  
And there was no response from Jack.  
  
He was too deep in thought, the last sentence that left Mark's lips making him doubtful. Was this really what he wanted? Was this the right choice? Was this the best thing to do for himself? He sure knew it wasn't, but he couldn't help it. He always wants to make other people's lives better — even if that meant making his life miserable and a whole lot harder.  
  
"Seán?"  
  
"Sorry, just went thinking," Jack shook his thoughts away. He's already shoved his clothes into the limited space his luggage and duffel bag could manage. He's made Mark waste some gasoline to take him here. He wasn't gonna change his decision now, all because of his doubt. He couldn't. This needed to be done. He needed to leave, even if he didn't want to.  
  
"Okay, but are you sure you're gonna be fine?"  
  
"Yep," Jack lied. He just wanted the best for his best friend. He'd do anything for Mark to have a better life, even if it means leaving.  
  
"Well... That's great, I guess," was all Mark said in reply, hoping the other man would overlook the sarcastic tone he couldn't seem to avoid.  
  
It was just so silly how Jack was only moving a few blocks away, yet Mark felt as if he was going back to Ireland. He was so emotional right now, and he couldn't help beat himself up inside for it — the man deserved the independence he wanted, for goodness sake.  
  
_Just let him go. It's no big deal. It's not that far away, Mark._ _  
_  
"I better get started on fixing this up," the blue eyed man gestured towards his room, "Ye can head off now. Thanks again."  
  
"I could help—"  
  
"I don't want ye touching any broken glass and hurting yerself. Besides, you've done enough for me."  
  
"Sure?"  
  
"Trust me, I'll get it done."  
  
_Let him go, Mark. Let him live, Mark._ _  
_ _  
_ "Okay. See you around? Maybe on Skype too?"  
  
"Of course."  
  
And for once, Mark didn't insist on staying. He didn't insist on helping. He didn't press until Jack said yes. Instead, he left and went back to a house that no longer felt like home.  
  
—•—  
  
Mark was awake. Third time tonight. And it was five in the morning.  
  
He didn't know why he couldn't sleep. Didn't want to link it to Jack's presence missing, but that probably was the case. It was silly, honestly. Why did his rest rely on another human being? Why did his emotions change due to one soul?  
  
He'll never know the secret. He'll never know the truth. And he wanted to know, so badly. He wanted a reason. He wanted an explanation. But for now, he got out of bed, sick of trying to sleep just to wake up again.  
  
He walked on, walked down the steps, rubbing his eyes awake. He knew he'd need to run on coffee to get work done today. He knew he wasn't in best shape, but he couldn't take a day off from uploading. Sure, his viewers would understand, but he didn't want to skip a day just because of this odd sudden insomnia.  
  
So he went to the kitchen to brew himself a cup, staring at the windows mindlessly. He was just like that, lost in his dead brain, until a familiar barking shook him awake.  
  
"Oh Chica! You're up early," he cooed, glad he had his dog there with him. Company is what he needed at a time like this.  
  
The dog simply whimpered, knowing something was wrong with her owner. Despite that, Mark crouched down to scratch behind her ear, making her wag her tail for more.  
  
"Did I wake you? I'm sorry if I did. Couldn't sleep."  
  
More wagging. More whimpers somewhere in between. A few licks on the hand thrown in the mix. And of course, Mark's rambling.  
  
"Dad's just feeling a little down. Nothing serious. I don't have any sleeping problems you have to worry about. Sure is different without Jack, huh?"  
  
Chica whimpered in reply, and this made Mark sigh. Even the fucking dog knew things were only sadder from here on out. She sure loved Jack as much as Mark did, didn't she?  
  
But he had to start living alone again. He knew they both had to get used to the lack of that Irish accent and adorable laugh echoing throughout the house.  
  
"Lemme get you breakfast, hmm?" Mark said, and with that he stood up to grab his coffee and some dog food for Chica too.  
  
And it was boring, that morning. Mark kept zoning out, staring at insignificant places in the room, staying at one seat for too long just to transfer to another and do the same thing. It was so stupid, how he couldn't carry on with his everyday life like he normally did just because Jack didn't live there anymore. It was stupid, he was stupid, and maybe the whole world was stupid too.  
  
_It has only been three fucking days, Fischbach. Pull yourself together._ _  
_  
He ran a hand through his hair, done with his nonsense. He really did need to pull himself together.  
  
And then soon came noon, when the doorbell ringing broke the deadpan silence.

  
_Oh great_ , Mark groaned internally. He really wasn't in his best shape, and having a guest come by today isn't gonna make things better.  
  
Or so he thought.  
  
"What do you wa— Jack?"  
  
"Hey Mark," the green haired man said with a weak smile, eyes bloodshot and tired, little bruises and scratches running up his arms, and once again worried Mark comes in to the rescue.  
  
"What happened to you?"  
  
"I cleaned my bedroom, obviously. Although I think I deserve to ask you that question. You look wrecked yerself."  
  
"That's because I haven't slept for longer than an hour since you left," he said with exhaustion in his voice, too tired to be bothered by his own bluntness.  
  
"Wh-What? Really?"  
  
"Yeah, and it sucks."  
  
"Seems like it."  
  
"It really does suck, Jack. And I don't think anything else could fix it but you," he sounded desperate, and it was really killing him how lack of sleep made him a straightforward idiot.  
  
"Actually," the loud Irishman suddenly grew a little quiet, and Mark knew this was a sign of something serious coming up, "I did come here to talk about that..."  
  
"Wait, what?"  
  
"Uh..." he started, suddenly nervous, wringing his hands in the process of speaking in a stuttering mess, "Okay, let me, uh, just s-say it bluntly. No need to m-make much of a b-big deal out of it, right?"  
  
"Jeez, what's with the stuttering?"  
  
"Just... let me finish, okay?"  
  
"Okay," the brown eyed man replied with caution, curious about whatever it is that made Jack come over in the first place.  
  
"Maybe... maybe I-I want to, uh, come back here. I want to be with ye a-and Chica again. I know it's a lot ta ask and i-it's only been, uh... two or three days, I think... but I kinda like living in yer... yer home. I like bein' with ye, and I'm s-sorry for being so indecisive t-to have made ye drive me to my apartment just to come back here and ask ta be yer... yer roomie again and all but—"  
  
"Christ, Seán. You're a mess. Just relax and stop for a minute," the other man intervenes, making the frantic blue eyed loser who had trouble putting his feelings into words shut up. It was cute, though, to see Jack so flustered like that. It made his heart warm, and suddenly the lack of sleep didn't seem like a big problem.  
  
"O-Okay," he said with red cheeks, not wanting to meet Mark's brown eyes with his own blue ones right now in hopes that the other man couldn't see how rapid his heart was beating. It was alreay obvious to begin with, though.  
  
"So you wanna come back?" Mark started slow, knowing how the blue eyed man needed to take baby steps when it came to feelings.  
  
"Mhm."  
  
"Why exactly?"  
  
"Because I—" he swallowed the lump in his throat and looked Mark in the eye, hoping the action would emphasize how much he meant what he was gonna say, "I _need_ you. I might have lost track of that for a few days, but I promise that I won't ever again. I know with my whole heart that I need ta be here with ye to survive. Yer my anchor, my happiness, my concrete, and if I must quote you, my _home_ . All along ye have always been, and I'm sorry it took time to realize, but now that I know, I promise ta never let ye go. I promise not ta stray ever again. I promise ye I'm gonna stay this time and never think of going away."  
  
"Look who's using poetic metaphors now," Mark said in reply, a small smile on his face. He really hoped this statement was enough to hide the blush that was blossoming on his face.  
  
"Shut up, ye just influence me too much."  
  
"Glad to know I mean much to you. Although, nothing will beat how much you mean to me."  
  
Now both of them had red cheeks.  
  
"So is that a yes to permanently moving in with ye?"  
  
"Of course, Jackaboy. Who could ever say no to your blue eyes?"  
  
And Jack smiled, eyes crinkled at the edges in joy. That was one of the many smiles that kept coming as soon as the Irishman pieced his life together. One of the many smiles Mark will always cherish and remember. It was one of many dozens and thousands more to come, and if you asked either of them, they would say that they're both perfectly happy with the way life has played out.  
  
Sure, there were things they would change about the past. Maybe take away the depression and sadness, but would they be where they are now if things had played out differently? Well, neither one of them truly care because finally, they were so happy. Finally, they were both in their little warm home, where they were safe, secure, and loved. They have finally found their source of joy in one another, knowing full well that nothing was ever gonna take that happiness away from them, not even the worst days.  
  
Finally, they had a reason to live. To keep smiling. To keep breathing. To keep believing in the good things.  
  
Finally, everything was going to be _okay_.

**Author's Note:**

> This is the last fic of the "Home" trilogy. I hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I (sorta) did. This one was really long actually (lol sorry). I hope that's fine with you guys.
> 
> Tell me if I should add or remove tags. Clearly I'm bad at those.


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